


The merciful night

by missveils (Embersalamander)



Category: Fallen London | Echo Bazaar
Genre: BIG Seeking Mr Eaten's Name SPOILERS, Canonical Character Death, Character Death, M/M, Other, Seeking Mr Eaten's Name, endgame spoilers, ironcandles, like very big ones guys you might wanna play before, veilscandles
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2017-02-19
Packaged: 2018-09-25 11:43:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9818927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Embersalamander/pseuds/missveils
Summary: So you knock.And the cold shatters your claws into the sharpest shards of ice man will ever see.So you rest your sword on the snow.And you knock. And your skin cracks like dark red veins on marble.-A diptrych fic about two very different individuals reaching the Avid Horizon. In search of a Reckoning, or a punishment.





	1. Veils

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING: THIS INVOLVES BIG SPOILERS FOR THE ENDINGS OF SEEKING MR EATEN'S NAME.

So you knock. 

And the cold shatters your claws into the sharpest shards of ice man will ever see. 

And you cross. And you are back home. The radiant, the beautiful, the empty, the plentiful. The dark and bright. The dark, blue, crimson spaces between the stars call you. And it would be so easy to just follow the song. To leave and become a shade again among the vast wilderness. 

But the stars, they are looking at you. They are waiting. They are listening, all of them. They were not expecting you to come back alone. 

So you speak. 

And you speak about the bargain and the burial. The pool and the chains. You speak about the light and the warmth. You speak about the scent of cinnamon and clove and poppies. The kiss of the sand and the kiss of obsidian. You speak of the betrayal of the ascent and the descent. Of the well and the tears. Whose, they ask, and you cannot reply. You speak of the dreams and the madness and the hunger. You speak of the closest thing to stars in the deepest, most oppressing, dark. 

And they mourn. 

So you wait.

And they gather whatever small traces left of him in his catafalque. The closest to being able to hold him again. Only there is barely anything left of you now. They don’t condemn you. They bathe and dissecate you. And you wonder if you are forgiven. You wonder if this is your punishment. 

You stand at the head of the catafalque. Burning and bright for once in your life. Your wings are closed one last time around you as you finally rest. They will not forget. And you, you will be the last to forget. 

You are his candle, you are his miserere, his vigil, his requiem. You are his memorial. 

So you burn. 

And here, in the light of the judgement you gravitate. You feel the warmth of the Earth’s sun again. The kiss of the sand. The scent of cinnamon, clove and poppies. 


	2. Iron

So you rest your sword on the snow. 

And you knock. And your skin cracks like dark red veins on marble. 

And you cross. And you are back at the Court. The radiant, the bright, the searing. The cold and painful. The walls are glass, sharp and poisoned.  The Law Myrmidons bring you before them. 

The Gold, the Red and the White. Terrible and beautiful. The light and the void bend around them. Their eyes as sharp and lethal as the glass that cuts your flesh when you are laid before them. 

You are seared, you are exposed. They ask. 

So you answer. 

And for once in millenia you are allowed to speak. And the first thing to come out out of your throat is a scream. His name. You roar about the light and the dark. About the betrayal, about the betrayer. About the unremembrance, the oblivion. The silence. You speak about the scream, that chilled your blood, that broke the sky. You speak about the tears. Whose, they ask. His, mine, the Bazaar’s, you reply. The Bazaar. Let her die, let her drown, let her suffer and burn. Let the Sun turn into ashes.

You scream about the brightness, and the warmth, the dance of the candle-flame, and the scent of lilies. You speak of the night and of laughter like crackled light. And bright golden eyes. 

But they are no longer listening. They are silent.

So you wait. 

And their will comes. The Courier is guilty. She drowns, she burns. The souls ascend and the souls are consumed. It is done. What you came here for, the revenge, the Lex Talionis. They are all gone, they are all punished. You are left with the cold and memories in your breaking body. You expect to be consumed.

But instead you are honoured. Eternity is your prize, forever is your sentence. You are to burn and give light to the antechamber of the Court. Eternal and cold. You wonder if this is your punishment. You ask to rest, you ask to forget. But they are no longer listening.

You are their trophy, their coat of arms, their tool. 

So you burn. 

And you burn not like a candle, you burn like a torch. Yet you are cold. You are silent. In the dark your flame crackles with the sound of broken light. In the dark you try to recall the warmth, the scent of lillies. And bright golden eyes.

**Author's Note:**

> follow for more on tumblr: http://missveils.tumblr.com/


End file.
